


Glovekink!Doktor

by HannahRose063



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Glove Kink, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:03:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3404963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahRose063/pseuds/HannahRose063
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>||BECAUSE NO ONE ASKED FOR A GLOVEKINK AND I CANT POST THIS ON TUMBLR BECAUSE AHAHAHA NSFW LIKE NOPE xD ||</p>
<p>Anyway, more Alucard x Dok for the lovely Hobbit~</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glovekink!Doktor

Everything seems very serene to Avondale in the first few minutes after Alucard has left the dimly lit abode beneath Hellsing on further orders from his master, probably thinking he was sulking with all the time he spent down in the basement. It’s like the storm has passed; like the world is trying to balance out his excitable presence with a few moments of complete and utter peace. Utterly lonely peace.

  
He misses him already.

  
What he doesn’t miss is the fact that Alucard is now running around in the English countryside probably after one of his F.R.E.A.K chip vampires sans one part of his snazzy outfit. The No-life king’s gloves are perched on the edge of his thrne innocently, as though they want to distance themselves from Alucard's crazy by being as serene and unobtrusive as possible.

  
Avondale studiously avoids them.

  
He’ll just hold on to them until he sees Alucard next, he thinks, as he goes about his business, brushing his teeth and preparing for bed that the shadows dutifully provide him every waking moment. They can just sit on his throne's arm until then.

  
So, he’s not sure how to explain why he brings them with him to bed.

  
Alucard gloves sit heavy in the palm of his hand, and for a few quiet moments they are all Avondale can think about. It’s as though his entire world has narrowed down to focus solely on the white scraps of fabric that the vampire has left behind.

  
“He might come back for zhem,” he says aloud to the empty bedroom. Predictably no one answers back. Not even a shadow so much as moves

  
“He’ll probably be back any minute…I can’t just…” he tapers off, staring hard at the stupid gloves and wishing he hadn’t been put in this stupid compromising situation. Was this a test from his master? Some morbid ... challenge of sorts?

  
Because this isn’t the first time he’s been fascinated by these particular objects.

  
With Alucard's abilities, he changes his attire minutely so often that there have been quite a few different pairs of gloves he’s ended up… Lusting over isn’t the right term. It really really isn’t. He just appreciates the subtle nuances of other people’s clothes. Just a totally normal interest in really soft gloves with the control restriction branded on the back, nothing else.

  
With a guilty glance around the bedroom he slips them on, somewhat managing to fit the syndactyly'd fingers into one of the fingers to just in front of the knuckles.  
They just feel like gloves. Nothing special, nothing too different between these and his own, except that this pair belongs to Alucard. And were soft. ... And smelt like Master.  
Which makes it so easy to imagine the white clothed hands are Alucard’s as they begin to map out the expanse of his naked chest.

  
It’s not wrong, he’s just… trying to get into Alucard’s twisted mind. It’s a character study through roleplay, he reasons. He barely even manages to convince himself.  
His real motives become abundantly clear as one gloved hand tweaks a nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. It feels good. Different somehow when there’s a scrap of fabric blocking skin on skin contact.

  
Looking down it suddenly becomes harder to breathe, because the hand touching him looks so much like the No-Life Kin’s as this angle he could barely see the odd bulge of his own fingers. It's Master's hand. Its Master's hand. It's Mas-"... I should stop,” he says to the gloved hands, though of course they can’t respond. One begins the journey down his stomach to brush a fingertip into the hair leading down into his boxers.

  
“I should just… call him back. Give zhese back to him, he might need zhem” he tries a little louder, but his gloved hands seem to have a mind of their own as the one continues tweaking his nipple and the other skims down under the waistband.

  
“I veally veally shouldn’t be doing zhis,” he whines, but his hand has already reached the base of his rapidly hardening length, and it feels too amazing to stop.  
In his mind he imagines Alucard leaning over him, smirk set firmly in place as his eyes rake the good doctor’s body.

  
“ _What do you want?”_ imaginary Alucard asks, his voice deep and smoky and even more gravelly than usual.

  
“Touch me,” he replies, the sound of his voice surprising him momentarily. He sounds just a thin edge away from desperate like he needs Alucard now, consequences be damned.

The Alucard of his fantasy prompts him to remove his boxers fully, and he does, revelling in the feeling as the gloves accidentally brush his legs.

  
“ **Heilig** -” Avondale runs the tips of his fingers up his length, gasping at the feeling of cotton fingertips finally stroking him. Sure, the hands touching him are his own, but this is the closest he can get to an actual encounter with Alucard WEARING his gloves to bed.

  
The gloves wrap around his lengh to pull him off slowly, with only the lightest amount of pressure to start.

  
He’s had this fantasy before gloveless, so the filth he imagines pouring from Alucard’s mouth comes as no surprise.

  
“ _Look at you, so needy you can’t even wait until I take my gloves off can you? I bet you’d beg me if I stopped touching you, wouldn’t you?_ ”

  
The worst part is that Alucard’s voice in his mind has just the slightest edge of astonishment, and that is simultaneously flattering and spurning him on more.

  
“Oh,” he whispers, running the palm of his gloved hand over the head of his length a few times, playing around the head as his Master would do, head tipping back. “ **J-Ja, lüttich**.”

  
“ _I want to touch every inch of you,_ ” his fantasy purrs into his ear, and Avondale’s hand is quick to obey, sliding over his skin with all the wicked intent he imagines Alucard would have, touching every muscle and every soft patch of heated flesh.

  
“ _I want you desperate for me. I want you to need me, to ache for me. I want you to tell me how much you want me,_ ” the soft purr demands, and he tightens his grip on his length with a needy whine.

  
“I vant you, please. I need you. Don’t stop touching me, **Gebieter** ” he whispers, flushing red at the fact that he’s actually said it out loud.

  
“Go slow,” he reminds himself as the sensation builds to a point where it’s hard to keep his hand going at a steady pace. To distract himself he goes back to imagine Alucard's face as he stands over him, watching him as he jerks him off. The carmine eyes set deep in that chiselled face are blazing in his mind’s eye, and he’s smiling in a way that is entirely predatory, which send shivers down Avondale’s spine.

  
“ _Suck_ ,” His fantasy orders as the free hands gloved fingers trace the wet line of his lips. He opens his mouth and slides them in, half afraid they will taste like blood. Instead they taste sharp, like gunpowder and the rich smell of his master, and that reminds him more than anything else that these are Alucard’s glove in his mouth and Alucard’s glove touching him and jerking him off.

  
He moans around the two fingers filling his mouth as he laves at the cloth with his tongue, and finds himself suddenly on the edge of orgasm. He lets go of himself quickly, eager to prolong the experience because he may never get this chance again.

  
He just lays there breathing hard through his nose for a moment and staring at the ceiling as he tries to relax. He tries to concentrate on the fingers in his mouth instead of giving in to the pounding need to touch himself. Sucking hard so that his cheeks hollow he envisions his master on his tongue, imagining what it would be like to do this to him. FOR him. His hand drifts back to his erection to start stroking again, faster and with a tighter grip than before, syndactyly'd fingers tight at the base in a desperate attempt of restraining himself but only pushing him further.

  
Avondale’s eyes slide shut of their own accord and he has to bite firmly on his lip like a gag to keep from being loud enough to echo through the room, and anyone walking past, little whimpers slipping out his nose from his chest with little hip's shuddering upwards. The spit-slicked glove trails down to his side and he lifts his hips so that he can grab his ass, imagining it’s Alucard squeezing him instead.

  
_“I want you to come apart. I want to fuck you hard, and kiss every single inch of you, and make you come all over yourself for me”_ the fantasy breathes. Avondale lets his gloved fingers dip down to tease at his hole in slow circles as his thrusts into his hand become further and further uncoordinated as the fingertip presses just barely into him. Barely even skims the top.

  
“ **M-master, B-bitt-a-AHH**!” he begs, his hand tightening as it begins to stroke faster, the fabric slippery and slightly dampened by precome but hardly slowing him down. He opens his eyes and seeing what looks like Alucard’s hand around his cock is enough to tip the scale and have him coming as his body gives a shaky jerk and the glove keeps moving to prolong the pleasure.

  
He’s running his fingers through the mess on his stomach before he realizes that he’s still wearing the gloves.

  
Oh no!

  
No, no, no, no, NO!!!

  
“ **Scheiße!** ” Avondale scrambles to sit up, inspecting the glove with a sinking feeling of guilt and .... Was that arousal?. He’s going to have to wash them, which hadn’t really occurred to him when he’d started.

 

“Vhat’s vrong with me,” he groans pathetically, pulling off the soiled gloves. This is five hundred kinds of bad and wrong.

  
In the lazy aftermath of his orgasm he just wants to sleep, but he knows he should wash them despite how reluctant he is to leave his bed, he doubted his legs could even take his weight this soon.

  
“Dont mind me, i forgot my-” A soft 'whumph' of Alucard stepping out of the wall followed by the voice makes the good Doktor jump and let out a soft scream, nearly falling off the bed but catching himself. But it’s not the scream that stops Alucard speaking (although he knows he’ll tease him for it later). His eyes are locked on Avondale, naked, panting and covered in release with his gloves sitting bright, white and incriminating on his chest where moisture caught the light.

  
“Its ... Its not .. I .. ah ...!!!” Avondale pleads, his voice high and ashamed. He’s pretty sure his blush covers over ninety percent of his body at the moment, and speaking of covering bodies… Avondale yanks the sheets up over him, only for the shadows to disperse it like smoke at a whim from Alucard.

  
Alucard is still standing not ten feet from the bed silent as the grave, which might be an apt metaphor because surely he’s going to kill him.

  
“Listen-” Avondale starts, but Alucard holds up a bare hand with a finger up for silence, cutting him off.

  
“Avondale,” he growls, “Please don’t tell me ''this is not what it looks like''.”

  
His voice is like thunder, and Avondale flinches as he gets closer, preparing himself for the beating he’s about to receive.

  
“Because I have never ever wanted it to be exactly what it looks like more than I do right now,” Alucard adds with a lecherous grin.


End file.
